


it’s only for the summer (but we do it anyway)

by idkabtalldat



Category: One Direction
Genre: Boys In Love, M/M, Summer Fling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idkabtalldat/pseuds/idkabtalldat
Summary: zayn’s journal about how he fell in love with a boy named liam in the summer of 2013.





	1. Try/effortless

**Author's Note:**

> inspo from cmbyn but without the underage bits n the album sept 5th by dvsn. 
> 
> title taken from the song: ‘summer fling’ by willow.

"You make me feel some type of way."

+

"I don't have a type but if I did it would be you."

By: DVSN.

 

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I remember the way his eyes sparkle in the sun, big, curious and all shades of brown; the way they would close into mere slits when he laughs and crinkle at the corner, he would laugh so wholeheartedly as if I spoke the funniest thing he had ever heard. His eyes held secrets and truths, and everything he wanted to say but hadn't had the courage to, they were soft but cold when searching for something you weren't supposed to find but found anyway.

 

His eyes are what held me captive.

 

Then was his lips: so pink and full, the way they would curve into a smile so brightly, the way his tongue would lick over them or how his teeth sank into them when he was nervous. Or the way he kissed me with so much passion that had my skin jolt with fireworks and course heat like I was lit with fire, every hair on my body would stand with every kiss he marked on me. His lips as pink as they were and how sweet told many secrets. Late, hot, summer nights when only the moon was out, and the streets were finally quiet and we were too restless to sleep; the thin sheets down at the edge of the bed and the only bearable clothing to wear was a pair of briefs. He would whisper his childhood to me, his bottom lip quivering as his brown eyes glossed in the light the moon provided through the open windows; 'it was really bad,' he once said, lips trying to smile.

 

However, there were times where we were in pure bliss, and his lips would part in a slight 'o' shape, slick with mine and his saliva, a bit of cum as well and he would moan so erotically, so beautifully satisfying to my ear. Just huffs and groans of uh-s and yes please-s, and I would stare down at him the whole time relishing in the likes of him, how one can just fall apart so easily.

 

His hands. As I remember: warm and colossus. Made me feel safe as he held me, like no matter what as long as he had his hand on my waist or my lower back nothing was going to hurt me or come between us. There was something about the way he lingered his hands on me wherever we were that I had fallen deeply in love with. Whether in the kitchen and he would caress the back of my neck or follow each vertebra down to where my spine stopped, or in public and his hand would tap a beat on my knee. Maybe he was telling me a secret or begging me to stay and never leave.

 

But how could I when he looked and kissed and touched me like I was the best thing to ever exist.


	2. angela

"Thought s(he) was the prettiest

But s(he) don't know

So nice to meet you..."

+

"No more hanging in the shadows."

By: DVSN.

 

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[SUMMER 2013]

 

It was only a few days that my family and I had settled into the abandoned summer house we had always come to for the break. But for the last couple of years with me off to university, my little sisters growing up and my older one had gotten married with now a little one to care for, it was more difficult getting the whole family together for some family time. Besides that it was good to have everyone around again, I hadn't realized how much I had missed my mum and baba, even my little sisters hissing at each other.

 

But there was another thing. We had neighbours, hadn't seen them yet but my mum told me that the owner had come by one evening with a greeting's cake, we had it for dessert that night after dinner it was red velvet with vanilla icing. I still remember the taste of Karen's baked goods she would always bring to our house. Her chocolate oatmeal cookies were my favourite. Also, she has a son, around my age named Liam. Mum said it'll be good to get to know each other since now I'll finally have something to do this summer than read the days away. She went on about getting some sunshine because of how pale I was that summer, and how Liam would probably help with that. I didn't mind, either, finally having someone my age to hang with so didn't have to go fishing with my dad or go into town with my sisters.

 

It wasn't for a week to go by until I met the boy. Liam. His name is still sweet on my tongue as I say it. I seen him around though, when I would be forced to get out of the house by my mum, so I would sit on the porch bench, watch my sisters and nephew play in the garden with the hose on; I would catch him doing the same, sitting on his porch watching into our yard. I would stare at him, over my book I long forgot or out in the open where everyone would see me almost pine shamelessly.

 

He was attractive, boyish – the baby face he had yet to grow into, cutest button nose and a mouth that was always in a pout. His eyes when they caught mine were my favourite – deep browns, light browns, golden browns all shining in the sunlight. I would gladly hold a staring contest if it meant to look into his eyes forever. It had been his eyes that made brown my favourite colour; it was them that made it hard for me to look into the eyes of another person and love.

 

It was a Friday, I remember because my mum had made me sleep in so I wouldn't have to go into the market with baba – the smell of sea and fish makes me sick but baba loved when I went because we'll always go into his favourite diner, he called it a father-son day. But I never had the heart to tell me I hated that place. But, I'll always remember that Friday because it was the day Liam came over, all shy and soft smiles with a permanent shade of pink embedded on his cheeks. His unruly curls even more unruly up close and I couldn't help be mesmerized.

 

He stood about a half a foot tall from me, his black swim trunks tight and reaching above mid-thigh – fuck, his thighs, strong and so, so, so good. I still remember how they felt in my hands as I held them to his chest in his and mine's favourite position or how the taste as I would bite into them so heavenly as my head stayed between them most late nights and early mornings – sometimes in the afternoon if we were far from everybody.

 

That Friday we stayed up in my room, and I told him he was the prettiest boy I had ever seen.


	3. the line

"To tell the truth, I only want you, baby."

By: DVSN.

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It was by the lake near our house, where we were in our trunks, I was wearing Liam's favourite pair – his black ones, the one he was wearing when we first met. He brought many pairs because swimming was his thing but it wasn't mine, so he had convinced me that day that he was going to teach me. It was an awful experience and a total fail but being in his arms, his firm hands holding my back, that would sometimes linger on my knee and thighs. He would chuckle so lightheartedly at my attempts to stay calm and stay afloat it was music to my ear that had me want to try, try, try again even to fail so I would hear him chuckle once more, again and again, and again. It was a long day and we settled at the end of the bank, where the late sun made it's peak through the branches and trees as he sunbathed in the warmth that was left for the day as the cool breeze finally made its way.

 

I watched unabashed, my eyes soaking up the looks of him as I counted his every steady breath. His skin was tanned matching the highlighted blond strands in his curly mane. Lips as red as strawberries, It was getting harder to breathe as I couldn't take my eyes off of him, I wanted him so badly, my body betrayed me every time he was near, my heart would skip beats, my hairs would stand, and my mouth would water just for a little taste. If I could have a taste I would savour it, make sure he knew I grateful for it.

 

It had only been some weeks and he had managed to get under my skin, invade every corner of my brain, made me want to eat nothing if I couldn't have him. If he asked me for anything I would say yes. I was still staring, tongue throbbing heavily in my mouth, eyes hooded as I was leaned on my elbows. It was the moment he turned to me and opened his eyes, the different shades of brown glistening off the setting sun, I softened. 'I wish I could stay here for forever.' He said, signing a beat after. There was something dreadful in his tone as if he was going back home to something that he wanted to get away from, I wanted to ask why, but he went back to being so content so I kept quiet until it was time to go back for dinner.

 

 

He was sleeping over. In my bed. Beside me. He had asked our parents if he could because he had wanted me to go into town with him early in the morning. I had never been a morning person but I remembered waking up rested before the sun was up, I remembered waking to an arm over my torso and the boy on the right side of me, head buried into one of my pillows, hair tousled over his puffy face and his lips parted. He had slept that night in one of my shirts with nothing on underneath because of sweltering it was that night.

 

I wanted to course my fingers through his curls and trace every bit of skin that he would allow me to touch, I wanted to kiss him and whisper my secrets into his skin because I knew he would keep them safe. Like, the night before where we laid on my sheets, him looking at me as I read my book. He had asked me if I had ever been in love, I almost said yes – yes, because I'm in love with you – but I shook my head and asked him the same. 'I thought I was once, but I didn't like her as much, only the idea that someone actually wanted to be with me.' His tone of voice was the same as at the lake, it made me want to ask why.

 

He stayed close to me that day in town, shoulders against mine, knuckles brushing sweetly as if he wanted nothing more than to hold my hand. I wanted so desperately for him to grab my hand and squeeze – I would've let him even when our hands got sweaty and I would've held tighter if he tried to let go because of it. We walked all day after we had gotten everything he needed for his mom, I didn't remember any other time I had been so happy to be in town – and not get restless with the number of people bumping into me.

 

He told me coming into town was his favourite, he liked the little shops and how the fruits tasted better here than at home. There was a shop we went into and the owner – a petite, old woman greeted Liam with the warmest smile, gathered his face into her hands and just melted. It was the sweetest sight. Her name I later found out was Sandra, a bookstore owner that sold vintage, used books. He told me he would come here and read the one-of-a-kind Batman comic she had, it was what he did when he came to town with his mum; sit with Sandra and read.

 

I told him that I loved it and was beyond grateful he brought me there. His whole face lit up, and I remembered him smiling the rest of the home as he rambled on about all the talks he had with Sandra, and how she was his favourite person ever because she understood him the way no else had and how she would listen to him with no judgment. It would be a blatant lie if I had said I wasn't fired up with jealousy – I envied an old woman for knowing him better than I did, for being the one person he wanted to come to, and knowing his secrets, his likes and dislikes, for being his favourite person. It was something I was ashamed of as I watched him talk – and I could do that forever... listen to him speak about everything and anything as long as I could. The way his mouth curved on each word, the way his tongue clicked, how expressive he was when spoke of something he was so passionate about – like comics, and swimming and music.

 

I cried that night, in my mum's arms. It was the first time I had cried over a boy. My mum didn't know the reason and for the first time, she hadn't pushed me into telling my feelings. But, oh had I wished that she did, so I could've sensed what I was going through that night, the emotions that ran through my veins and made my heart hurt with every beat it made. She could've told me what to do.

**Author's Note:**

> nothing is edited, all is written n posted on my phone. The parts that are supposed to be in italics arent cus my ass is lazy. but hope u like what i came up w regardless.


End file.
